


Love In The Middle Of A Firefight

by Elsian



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-10 09:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 20,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4386251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsian/pseuds/Elsian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my short works and prompts from Tumblr, for convenience and easier reading</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

“I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

Anders voice shook as he spoke, talking to Fenris away from the others. The elf had demanded it, after the Chantry as they prepared themselves for what might be a final fight, and Anders could not deny him.

He had no right to, not after this.

“It’s ridiculous isn’t it?” He continued, he trembled as he spoke eyes to the floor, focused on the tattoos on Fenris’ feet so he didn’t have to meet his eyes. “Everything that’s happened, everything I’ve done, and thinking that I might be in love is the thing that has me wanting to run for the hills. Isn’t it funny how…”

“Shut up, Mage.”

Anders fell silent. He could feel the eyes of the others on them. He couldn’t look at them either. He didn’t want to face the anger, the disappointment.

The pity.

Fenris’ hand under his chin was firm, lifting his head but he resisted as long as possible.

Not from him. He didn’t want to see it from him.

“Look at me.” The elf was stern, and finally Anders looked at him. He couldn’t read him at all, and somehow that was worse.

“Back there, did you really want to die?” Fenris asked quietly.

“I never imagined there was any other option.” Anders replied softly in return.

Fenris studied his face a little longer, before taking hold of Anders wrist, yanking him forward and pressing the Mages face into the juncture between shoulder and neck, avoiding the sharp points of his armour.

Tentatively, Anders lifted his arms, clutching at Fenris’ back as he held onto the elf tighter, fighting back the tears that gathered in his eyes.

“We are going to survive this” Fenris murmured, lips pressed into Anders hair “And then, we shall need to talk.”

Anders nodded in response, clutching Fenris tighter, throat tight and unable to find suitable words. In his wildest dreams, he had not expected the glimmer of a chance with Fenris. Not with the way they were together. Not after this.

Fenris held him tight a while longer, and Anders wasn’t sure if he imagined the words he thought he heard when he finally let go.

He would ask him. Later

_“Te amo, mi amatus.”_


	2. “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”

“Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?” 

Anders smirked at the elf, who huffed and scowled in return, not even a semblance of a smile gracing his lips.

“Don’t be absurd, mage.”

“You did, I saw it!” Anders replied gleefully. “I insulted the Templar, and you actually smiled. You think I am funny.”

“No-one thinks you’re funny, Anders.” Aveline said from ahead.

“I think you’re funny.” Hawke turned instantly, shooting his index fingers at Anders with a wink.

“Thanks, Hawke.” Aveline sighed, stepping ahead to walk by Varric instead. Hawke realised she’d left his side and looked indignant, running to catch up with the two of then, leaving Fenris and Anders a little further back, walking in silence once more.

“I bet I can make you smile again.” Anders said idly, a little later

“Oh really, Mage.” Fenris scoffed “And just how do you plan to do that?”

Anders smiled, sidling up to Fenris’ side, leaning in and cupping his hand round the elfs ear as he whispered to him, making certain none of their companions could hear.

After a few moments of Anders whispered promises, Fenris smiled.


	3. Fenris has a Problem

“I have a problem.” Fenris had positively slunk into the clinic, a rough woven bag in his arms.

“Is this a problem like Isabela has a ‘problem’ or like Hawke has a ‘problem’ because I’m not really in the mood for either.” Anders sighed, rubbing his temples.

The bag mewed.

“What is that?” Anders asked, trying and failing not to sound excited. Fenris sighed and opened the bag, and as expected, out popped a little calico kitten.

“This is the problem” Fenris mumbled.

“That is a kitten” Anders desperately wanted to reach out and touch the little creature, but Fenris was still holding it, and he had no desire to invade the elfs personal space without warning. He rather liked his heart where it was.

“It’s a problem.” Fenris repeated. He was holding his hands out flat, the kitten stepping onto them to look at Anders curiously, fascinated with the new person.

Anders snorted"It’s a kitten fenris, you have a kitten. Why do you have a kitten?“ He looked to the elf warily. “May I?”

“It was being unreasonably noisy near my home.” Fenris answered. “I think it is sick.” He did not respond to Anders request to touch the cat, but moved his hands marginally closer and Anders decided to take the risk that that meant ‘yes’, reaching out to pet the kittens head. The little animal immediately pushed its head into his palm and he smiled.

“He doesn’t seem sick. He’s probably hungry. Wait here, I think I have some milk left.” Anders hurried over to the shelves. There was some milk left, he had planned on saving it, but this was clearly more important. He put it in a bowl and when Fenris crouched, the kitten was already bounding out of his hands to the milk, happily lapping at it.

“What are you going to call him?” Anders asked,smiling as he side-eyed the elf who was watching the kitten drink.

“I’m not keeping it.” Fenris looked affronted. “I brought it here because it is a nuisance. You should get on well.”

Anders rolled his eyes.

“He’s cute, but he can’t stay here. The Darktowners will eat him, I don’t want that on my conscience.”

“It’s not staying with me.” Fenris responded flatly.

“Yes, because he’s going to take up so much space in that big old mansion of yours.” Anders sighed. “I will feed him and take care of him, but please don’t abandon him. He won’t survive two minutes on his own. I’m surprised he managed this long, though he seems healthy enough, if hungry.”

“…Very well, but if it causes me problems, I will remove it from my home.” Anders blinked in surprise at Fenris agreeing so easily to Anders visiting him home, to care for a kitten of all things.

“Well, you’ll hardly notice of he makes a mess.” Anders retorted. The kitten was done for the moment, and was attempting to climb his boots. He grinned and scooped him up into his hands.

“So, does he have a name or do I get to pick one?”

“It is called Problem.” Fenris responded instantly. Anders was appalled.

“You can’t call him problem! That’s not a real name”

“I have heard your 'real’ names. You are not naming him.” Fenris room brokered no room for argument, but he had finally called the cat 'him’ rather than 'it’ and Anders supposed when it came to the cantankerous elf he had to revel in the little victories.

He sighed, lifting the kitten up to his face.

“Hello there, Problem. I am Anders and I am going to be your new owner.” He turned the cat to Fenris. “This is Fenris. He is your new landlord.”

“Fool mage.” Fenris grit out, then turned to leave, evidently done with their conversation.

“I shall be bring Problem back when the clinic closes tonight.” Anders called at the retreating elf. Fenris made a disgruntled noise in response before leaving the clinic, which Anders took to be positive.

He smiled, placing Problem on his shoulder, where the kitten promptly climbed round and inside his collar, curling at the back of his neck.

“He’ll come around to you in time, Problem. No-one can resist a kitten.” Problem purred against his neck in what Anders decided must be agreement, before returning to his work in the clinic, still vaguely bemused by the elfs odd behaviour, and a little bit overjoyed to have a cat once more, even if it was sort of on loan.


	4. Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past Kanders mentioned

“You are distracted today, Mage.”

Fenris spoke as he and Anders reclined in front of the large fireplace that adorned the master bedroom of the mansion, Anders settled between his legs with his head on the elfs shoulder, but he wasn’t really there. He hummed as Fenris spoke, but gave no reply.

“Mage.”

Answer shook his head, turning to look at Fenris.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said you are distracted today.” Fenris repeated, looking at him pointedly and Anders had the good grace to look sheepish.

“What is it?” Fenris asked, arms tightening round Anders waist.

“It is nothing.” Anders looked away, staring at the flickering flames of the fire, hands resting tentatively over Fenris’ own on his stomach.

“It is a distracting nothing.” Fenris would drop the subject if Anders wanted it, but he’d learnt more often than not, Anders wanted to speak, he just needed the opportunity.

“I was thinking about Karl.”

Fenris stiffened, as much as he tried not to.

“Oh.”

It was ridiculous to be jealous. He knew that it was, the man was gone but still the feelings lingered.

Then again, Fenris had never really had anyone to be jealous over before.

He took a breath, relaxed and held Anders closer, waiting for him to continue.

“I know what you’re thinking.” He said lightly after a moments hesitation. “It’s not like that. I was just thinking how he never would have got a funeral.”

Anders voice was tinged with bitterness.

“They won’t have buried him, not there” he spat “they’ll have dumped him into the sea, without a place marker or a plaque to let anyone that he was ever here, that he was alive. He was tranquil, they probably didn’t even tell his friends he was dead.”

Anders shook in his arms and Fenris knew were he to look there would be tears on the mages face. He gave him a moment, waiting for the shuddering to subside more before he spoke.

“A body does not mean much to the Qunari.” He offered slowly, rubbing his thumb in a soothing circle on Anders belly. “They dispose of them quickly, it is merely a vessel. It is actions that matter, what was done with the life given to you, what you did for the Qun. Whilst a person is held in memory, they are never truly gone.”

Anders leant back more heavily against Fenris with a sigh.

“Whilst you hold him close to you, he is never truly gone. They cannot take that from you.”

Neither of them pointed that the Templars could, and if they caught Anders, they would.

Fenris took a breath, pressing his face down into Anders shoulder before he spoke again.

“If you ever wish to talk about Karl, I will listen.”

The fire crackled, filling the silence between them before Anders turned in his arms, eyes watery, but a smile on his face.

“Thank you.” He said quietly, and leaned in to press his lips to Fenris, a chaste kiss that did not truly represent the emotion belied in it.

Fenris said nothing more, taking Anders into his arms, placing a kiss to his temple and staring into the fire.


	5. Inquisitor Anders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How's this for a prompt. Surprise, Anders is the inquisitor. He would definitely be the type of person to sneak into the conclave. Being a grey warden he would sense that corphyface was there once he arrived and investigate.

As days went, he’d had better.

Then again, he’d certainly had worse too.

He stumbled after Cassandra up the steps, thankful he’d convinced her that letting him have a staff wasn’t such a bad idea, wondering how he kept ending up in these messes.

He gripped the wood tightly. He missed Freedoms Call.

They’d fought their way past the demons up to this breach Cassandra had told him about, and now there were finally people ahead. An elf, who immediately grabbed his hand to close the rift in front of them with the strange mark that was still tingling up his arm, and…oh

“Blondie. Long time, no see.”

“Hello Varric.” Anders looked everywhere he could but at the dwarf. This was not how he’d hoped for a reunion.

He’d never really imagined there being one.

“You know each other?” Cassandra asked incredulously, and Varric was speaking before Anders could stop him.

“Come now, Seeker. Surely you’ve heard of Anders?”

The glare Cassandra turned on him could have cut steel.

“You did not tell me your name was Anders.” She said coldly

“Surprise?” Anders said sheepishly, taking a step back. Varric smirked behind Cassandra and Anders sighed. He supposed he deserved that.

He looked at the mark on his hand, to the glowering group in front of him, then to the looming Breach in the sky.

It still wasn’t his worst day ever.

But it was definitely in the running.


	6. Blind Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern au - carnival date

Anders wasn’t sure what Hawke was thinking when his blind date finally arrived, the heavily tattooed elf in short sleeves despite it heading for Autumn scowling at him on his own doorstep did not bode well for a date.

When Anders removed his cardigan in the car, revealing his anti-Templar shirt and was treated to a diatribe on the evils of mages and magic for the rest of the journey, he decided that Hawke actually had a death wish.

Which was good because he was going to kill him.

He sighed and sat back, waiting for Fenris to pull up at whatever dive bar he’d decided to ruin Anders night with, and wondering if it would be better to just demand to be taken home now before the night could get any worse.

He changed his mind when they pulled up at the carnival, Fenris parking the car and glaring at Anders, daring him to say something.

Anders wouldn’t dare. He loved carnivals.

It turned out Fenris was a generous date, even when it was plainly obvious he hated Anders guts, paying for his drinks and candy floss and any games he wished to play, even when Anders insisted otherwise.

It also emerged that the elf was strong. Strong as hell. He won a strength test with ease, thrusting the stuffed toy he’d won at Anders grumpily, which Anders took without a word, mind quite happily settled in the gutter after Fenris’ display.

“It’s really blood mages that are the real issue.” Fenris had muttered later on, as he handing over the money for their candy floss, and Anders hummed in agreement, taking the sweet food.

“I will agree with you on that.“He replied, licking his fingers of the sticky sweetness of the candy floss, then blushing fiercely when Fenris didn’t reply, instead focusing on the digits in Anders mouth.

He was surprised when Fenris lead them over to the Ferris wheel, having let Anders lead most of the night otherwise.

"You can see the whole city from up here.” Anders said when they reached the top “Kirkwall doesn’t look so shitty from a distance.”

“I know"Fenris said, the clearest he’d spoke all night since his rant in the car. "That’s why I always come here when the carnivals around.”

“You’re not so bad.” Fenris spoke into the silence that had fell, and when had his arm moved to rest on the seat behind Anders? “For a Mage.”

Anders knew the kiss was coming before Fenris had even turned to him, lips parting in anticipation, and as the elfs claimed his mouth, he thought perhaps he can let Hawke live, this time.


	7. Scars

Fenris doesn’t have many scars. He was trained too well, and had a variety of healers at hand whenever he had sustained injury. Danarius liked his pets ‘pretty’, and went to great lengths to ensure that Fenris’ skin remained unmarred by usual methods.

He has four scars on his body, three of which he remembers fondly, two gained during his escape and other with Hawke, refusing to allow the Mage to heal him. It as a minor wound, and he earned this. Another act of rebellion, just as he lets the mansion rot, taking that which Danarius once called his and making it his own.

There is one which has always been there, a small crescent on the inside of his knee. He doesn’t know how it got it. He probably never will.

It is the markings that he hates; pale and glowing and as far as he’s concerned, more ugly than any burn or cut could ever be. Sometimes though, Anders will press his lips to them, tracing them, not with reverence in his eyes like so many others but sadness, always too empathetic before moving on, ignoring them once more like he would a freckle or a mole, and Fenris doesn’t hate the lyrium in his skin quite as strongly for the briefest of moments.

Anders has more scars than he can remember, more than he can bothered to count, even were he able to see the ones on his back. Most are borne of punishment, the Templars finally trying force when reason would not kerb his urges to run, but some simply of carelessness. Grabbing a young child prone to wriggling whisky wearing gauntlets generally lead to some marking, particular when he was unable to heal himself and refused to go to the healers, picking at the scabs on his arms until he was left with permanent thin white lines along his skin. It’s easy enough to say that they were done by a cat.

Some of them might have been, he’s not so sure he can tell the difference anymore.

Fenris never asks. He does not have to. He might have had unique circumstances but he spent enough time around slaves who did not to know what whipping scars look like.

Then there is that one. The one on his chest. The like of which one would only usually see on a dead man.

He knows Fenris wants to ask, can see the question in his eyes, but he doesn’t push, letting his gaze linger on it before moving on. If he ever asks, perhaps Anders will tell him. He doesn’t want to lie to Fenris, unless he has to.

Fenris always traces the marks on his back, his fingers never following then same path twice, and it’s enough to make Anders curious what his skin actually looks like. Never enough to actually get a mirror and find out.

Fenris lips press to his shoulder, gently and maybe, he tells himself, when the elfs fingers finally run out of trails to follow down his back, Anders will finally discover what it looks like.

Until then, it is easier to pretend that Fenris’ fingers run down smooth skin, even as they skitter over his chest and the large mark below his heart, and pray he doesn’t ask.


	8. Bad Habit

Fenris taps his fingers on the handle of his sword as he guards the clinic. It’s a straight-forward enough rhythm, repetitive and loud due to his metal gauntlets.

It’s driving Anders up the wall. 

Hes shot him a few glares now and then, an exasperated sigh when the tapping echoes around the clinic, which quieter than usual, a few sleeping patients and workers with aching backs, but no screaming children or broken bones having their owners crying out in agony, and so Anders has noticed Fenris’ little ‘quirk’ for the first time.

Finally, he has had enough, huffing and letting his hands drop to his lap with the bandage he was rolling, turning to the elf.

“Must you do that?” He asks, scowling.

“No.” Fenris’ curt reply comes fast, and his fingers stop moving. 

“Huh.” Anders turns back to his bandages, confused, but happy, That was surprisingly easy.

For a few moments, there is silence, and then the tapping starts again, albeit a different rhythm. Anders squeezes his eyes shut, biting his lip as he exhales heavily.

When he turns to Fenris again, he is smirking, just slightly.

Trust the elf to be pedantic.

“Can’t you indulge in a different bad habit for a while?” Anders gripes, standing with his basket of bandages in hand, and the tapping stops once more, the smirk falling from Fenris’ face.

“I do not have any bad habits.” Fenris says. “They were discouraged.” 

Anders stares at him for a while, though it doesn’t take long for the realisation to come. 

Fenris is doing it on purpose. He’s giving himself a bad habit. Or rather, letting himself have one. Anders knows little of Danarius, only what the elf has told him and even that is not much (though more than enough to know he hates him) but he does not imagine he was a man to suffer his bodyguard idly tapping his fingers as he stood vigil.

Anders hefts the basket to his other arm, stepping over towards Fenris.

“Well why don’t you try developing a few more?” He suggests lightly, “Like an irresistible urge to fold sheets and bandaging.”

Fenris snorts, raising an eyebrow at Anders.

“Nice try, Mage.”

“It was worth a shot.” Anders bends down, brushing his lips against Fenris’ forehead lightly before moving to place the bandaging on the shelf, retrieving another basket of washed bandages ready to be folded.

The tapping starts anew as he kneels down to work, and it is no longer so difficult to grit his teeth and bear it.


	9. Home

Anders squinted as the sun fell across his face, a disgruntled groan echoing from his throat as he turned, pressing his face into the pillow as the beam of light disturbed his sleep. As he rolled he bumped into a warm firm shoulder, nose pressing against the skin and inhaling the scent of leather, skin and lyrium.

Cracking one eye, he bit his lip, trying and failing not to smiled as he slipped an arm under the pillow and observed the sleeping elf, Fenris’ features softened as he slept and making him seem so much younger, white hair falling into his eyes and mouth open. Soft snores escaped him, shifting slightly as Anders moved beside him.

Anders body ached, the sunlight pouring in through the window had disturbed what had been one of the most peaceful nights sleep in recent memory, and the gaps in the roof left the room with a slight chill despite the summer season, and Fenris had stolen most of the blankets during the night.

He’d not felt so happy in a long time.

Fenris made a muffled noise next to him, opening his eyes to find the Mage watching him. Sunlight caught in Anders sleep-mussed hair, making it glow from behind, eyes soft with sleep and a dopey smile on his lips. Fenris frowned at him, rolling onto his back and throwing an arm over his eyes. 

“It is too early.” He grumbled. Anders laughed, but moved closer, more confident that Fenris was not about to kick him out now they were awake.

“You do not even know what time is it.” He replied softly.

Fenris lifted his arm slightly from his hed, narrowing an eye at Anders before sliding his free arm around the Mages neck, pulling him in so he rested on the elfs shoulder, face pressed into Fenris neck. Tenatively, Anders curled into him, an arm over Fenris’ stomach and a leg thrown over the elfs own. 

Fenris hummed in approval, gripping Anders shoulder and closing his eyes again.

“It is too early.” He repeated, turning and pressing his face into Anders hair. “Go back to sleep, Mage.” 

Evidently done with conversation, Fenris held Anders to him with seemingly no desire to left go. Anders relaxed in his grip as it settled into place that Fenris was not about to throw him out of the mansion.

The suns rays were warm, as was Fenris’ skin beneath his cheek, and Anders breath evened out, lulled back into sleep by the comfortable elf beneath him that smelled of leather and lyrium, and felt something a little like home.


	10. Act 3

Anders couldn’t see the knife behind him, but he knew it was there. He doesn’t know how Hawke came to have it in his hands, but it didn’t particularly matter.

He hadn’t expected to survive this, and of them all, it was Hawke he had hurt the most. It’s only fitting.

“You will not do this.” 

Fenris voice, behind him, beside Hawke. There is a slight clang as the knife passes from Hawke to a gauntlet-covered hand and perhaps it wasn’t Hawke he had hurt the most after all.

There is a thud, a glint to the side and he can see the knife in the dirt, only just in his peripheral vision, but it is not as though Fenris requires any weapons to end his life.

“Do you really think that I would?” Hawke mutters, his tone resentful. He steps back, away to the rest of the group. 

Anders closes his eyes, and waits.

It does not come, the fist to his heart and able to feel the presence in front of him, he tentatively opens his eyes, finding Fenris crouched in front of him. He stares at the elfs feet, reluctant to look up. Fenris’s hand comes to rest on his neck, enticing his head up, though his eyes remain cast down.

“Look at me, mage.” Fenris says quietly It is not a request, and so Anders finally meets his eyes, trembling beneath his touch. To the side, Hawke and Sebastian are arguing, rather vehemently but their voices are only so much white noise as he stares at Fenris.

“Fool mage.” Fenris sighs. “What have you done?”

Anders gasps as he is pulled forward, Fenris pressing the Mages face into the gap between his neck and his armour, breathing in the unique scent of the elf, always tinged with lyrium. 

Fenris holds him close, one hand on the back of his head whilst the other clutches his waist tightly, not letting go, and slowly, hesitantly Anders wraps his arms around Fenris’ shoulders, burying himself further into the elfs neck as though he could stay there and it would all simply disappear.

“We can fix this.” Fenris murmurs into his hair, lips pressed to Anders temple.

“We will fix this.”


	11. Kiss

When Anders kissed Fenris, it was quick. Rushed, almost brutal, the Mages hands pulling him in hard by his shoulders, pressing them back against the wall, but not out of any desire to have the elf pressed against him, but more force of habit. Get tucked away, get hidden, small and flat where no-one can see. He claims Fenris’ mouth thoroughly, tongue scoping out the shape of it, tongue fighting with the elfs for a battle he’s not sure he wants to win, but he enjoys fighting all the same. His hands are already running along Fenris’ sides, undoing clasps and buckles, and for one brief moment Fenris wonders if there is perhaps a fire burning around them he is unaware of, until Anders hands are in his leggings and he does not wonder anything at all.

When Fenris kisses Anders, he makes sure it is slow. He is still new to this, a lover who is simply happy to kiss him, to hold him, to not expect anything further and still be here in the morning and he wants to savour it. Anders trembles beneath his touch, and he holds his face firmly with one hand as he presses their lips together more firmly, tracing the seam of the Mages lips with his tongue, asking for permission. It is granted hesitantly, and even now, Anders is ready to flee. Fenris pushes on, Anders opening his mouth to him slowly, and he pulls him in closer as he explores his mouth, taking his time. Anders begins to relax under his touch, and its not completely, not yet, but it is progress. Danarius is dead, his final chain is gone and the Templars would not think to look here. He is safe, they are safe, for once in their lives and Fenris wants Anders to believe it just as much as he now does.

Anders kisses like it is his last. Fenris kisses like he wants it to last forever.

Anders knows which he prefers. 

He just wishes he could believe it.


	12. Hold

Anders likes to be held. He likes to be held even though so many of his memories are being torn away from another’s arms; from his mothers arms as the Templars took him away to the circle, from lovers whilst in trysts in places they shouldn’t be, Karl stepping away from him as his magic faded and the tranquility returned… It was part of the reason he was so fond of Pounce, who would drape himself around Anders neck, and he could tell himself it was a hug if he tried hard enough. 

He lost Pounce in the end too. 

It doesn’t change a thing, and though he will wait until he has permission, the instant Fenris allows it, he will curl into the elf, head tucked under Fenris’ own and the elfs arms coming around to tuck the mage closer to him, and Anders hopes he might the one who will never let go.

Fenris likes to hold. He holds onto everything he has with a ferocity only born of a man who has never really owned anything. He grips his sword tightly, and claims dominion over Danarius’ Hightown home because they are his, he has claimed them, and he holds the Mage in much the same way, pulling Anders closer to him as though he might suddenly vanish from his arms into thin air if he doesn’t hold him tightly enough.

He has never had anything to call his own that he can remember. His clothes, his sword and armour, his home and his food; they all came from Danarius and now that he can call these things his own he is fiercely reluctant to yield them again.

He has never had a lover to hold, and to call his own. He clutches Anders tighter to himself, one arm wrapped around the Mages shoulders whilst the other cradles the back of Anders head, tangling fingers in his head as he holds him to his chest.

He would sooner die than willingly let go.


	13. “You miss him.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past Kanders mentioned

“You miss him.”

“Hmm?” Anders looked up, having been almost asleep when the elf spoke, Fenris’ fingers carding through his hair and lulling him into that strange space before slumber where everything is fuzzy.

“The tranquil…Karl.” Fenris’ hand was still moving in his hair, but it had slowed, and Anders could feel the slight trembling in his fingers. He suppressed a sigh, shaking himself awake and leaning up, resting his chin on his arms as he looked at Fenris, who was pointedly staring across the room at the dimming fire.

“Of course, he was my friend.” Anders replied. His hand rested near Fenris’ collarbone, and he let his fingers trace the skin lightly as he spoke.

“He was more than that though.” Fenris still had yet to look at Anders, and his hand stilled in the mages hair.

“You know that he was.” Anders kept his eyes on Fenris, even though he would not return his gaze “I have not kept that from you.” He could hardly believe that Fenris was jealous, especially over a man who would never pose any threat.

He was going to say as much, but considered Fenris’ shaking handing on his head, the way the elf would not look at him, and perhaps it was more than just jealousy.

“Fenris…” He said softly, inquisitive, but he didn’t wish to force him. Fenris had brought this up and he would speak in his own time.

Anders had never been very good with silence though, and he very nearly gave up on his resolve when Fenris finally spoke.

“I can’t help but wonder lately, what would have become of you had he made it out of the Circle. What would have become of us.”

Anders opened his mouth to speak, but Fenris continued before he could try to respond to that, whether out of fear of what Anders might say, or simply because now he had started he was unable to stop, the Mage could not tell.

“What if he had survived? We are not alike, in anyway. You have often told me how gentle and kind he was, that he did not deserve his fate. He was a Mage, he understood you in a way that I never will, would understand your demo… the spirit. We argue and fight even when we are whatever we are, and it concerns me than I cannot be that for you.” Fenris finally looked at Anders, fingers trembling as they moved to brush a strand of blonde hair out of the mages eye and behind his ear. “You have become…more important to me than I anticipated.”

“Oh, love” Anders sighed, and that word never failed to make the elfs cheeks colour, even if he had yet to say it in return “I really try not think about the ‘what ifs’ of my life. I have made far too many questionable choices for that to lead to anything but madness. Karl meant a great deal to me, that is true. He is also no longer here.”

Anders leant up, taking Fenris face in his hands so he was unable to turn away.

“I need someone who will call me out on my bullshit, someone who will still have my back in a fight, pulling me to my feet even as he calls me a 'fool mage’. Someone who will scowl at me as he sits and guards my clinic all day, who will force me to eat when I forget and who will argue with me into the early hours of the morning and still fuck me so hard I see stars after. ” Anders smirked when Fenris’ mouth twitched at that, leaning in and pressing his lips to the elfs softly, resting his forehead against Fenris own after. “I do not need another Karl. I need a Fenris.”

Anders was so open, eyes wide and a small smile on his lips, and Fenris could hardly stand it, so he wrapped his hand around the back of the mages head, pulling him in for a deep kiss that he hoped told the man what he could not.

“And if it makes you feel better.” Anders laughed as he pulled back “Karl wouldn’t have seen Justice any better than you do. You could have had a wonderful time together berating me for my life choices.” Anders grinned, kissing the end of Fenris’ nose and the elf growled, rolling them so Anders was beneath him, gripping the mages wrists and trying to ignore him as he continued to smirk, rolling his hips up into Fenris’.

“Fool mage.” He said, voice low

“Your fool mage.” Anders replied, leaning up so he murmured the words against Fenris’ lips, and then spoke no more as Fenris pressed him into the bed, claiming his mouth in a bruising kiss.


	14. 5 times Fenris climbed into Anders’s bed and burrowed in his blankets

The first time Fenris climbs into Anders bed, it wasn’t really climbing as such. Hawke and Varric lugged the injured elf into the clinic, his shoulders with Varric whilst Hawke had his feet, and that sight would have been hilarious if hadn’t been for the copious amounts of blood pouring from the elf’s side. Anders bed was the only one free and he waved them towards it without hesitation. The blood ruined the sheets and it was months before he could afford to replace them but Fenris lived, and that was what mattered.

The second time Fenris climbs into Anders bed, it is with biting fury, spitting insults and hateful words even as he tears the mages clothes from his body. Anders replies with like words, venom and bile pouring from his mouth in droves even as the elf makes him cry out into the dark clinic, echoing around the empty room and they both hate just how much they love it. When Anders wakes Fenris is not there, but he’d not really expected any different.

The third time, the elf is drunk. Beyond drunk. Completely obliterated and from his slurred words Anders gets the impression that he came for a repeat performance of their tryst a month ago, but he can barely stand, swaying on his feet and when he takes swing at the Anders stood on the left he nearly makes a very fast introduction with the ground if it hadn’t been for the Mages arms around him. Anders grunts, Fenris is heavier than he looks, lugging him to his bed and the elf scrabbles at the sheets, twisting up and wrapping himself around the thin pillow before passing out. The mage sighs, retreating to his desk and though he could help; make sure Fenris wakes without a hangover, he doesn’t really deserve it. Fenris leaves with his tail between his legs in the morning, clutching his head and Anders pretends not to see him.

The fourth time, Fenris comes with apologies. He has been drinking again, but not much, maybe a glass, if that. He whispers his sentiments into pale skin in Tevene that Anders feigns ignorance as Fenris pushes in, holds him as a real lover would and as Anders wraps his arms around him, he can pretend thisis real, that nothing is going to change, that he can actually have this. Fenris is not there when he wakes again, and he tries not to be disappointed. It would never have worked anyway.

The fifth time they are under the stars. Anders is asleep, and Fenris is on watch, but the mage is cold and he is confident his ability to stay awake and still provide comfort and warmth. Fenris slides into the bedroll behind Anders, he places his arm over his waist, pulling the shivering man back into his embrace, pressing their bodies together shoulder to hip, tangling their legs. Just as he did last night, and the night before. Just as he will tomorrow, and the day after that.


	15. Petrichor - The smell of dry rain on the ground.

The rain had stopped.

Anders looked out, staring over the cliff and off into the distance, back to where Kirkwall lay, far but still visible.

The flames were out. The sky no longer red and burning, a sunset in the wrong direction. The rain had put an end to it, the city on fire gone from view at last.

Out of sight, but never out of mind.

It was all gone, the life he had built, his clinic, his friends, scattered their separate ways, departing in the wake of what he had done. Hawke promised to come once he had dealt with things, but Anders would not hold him to that. Hawke had given so much already. Anders could not bear to ask for more

Anders took a deep breath, the smell of the air filling his lungs, the grass fresh and the atmosphere holding that heady scent that only comes after a good storm.

The rain could not wash away his sins, but this; this made him feel like there was still redemption to be had.

There was still hope.

Fingers slid between his, the Mage turning his head to look at Fenris as the elf came to stand beside him, staring out at Kirkwall with him, toes curling in the damp grass.

He was here. He remained, the calm in Anders storm. No. The After. The scent of the rain on the ground, the heady air.

Anders Hope.

He squeezed Fenris’ fingers in his own, looked back to the city and smiled.


	16. Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”.

It wasn’t right.

He hated the Mage. He hated everything about him. He hated his cause, he hated how he near constantly whined about the ‘plight of the mages’ and he hated how when he wasn’t waxing on about the troubles of his kind he was making bad jokes and lamenting his cat.

Fenris scowled as he observed him moving around the clinic, patching up these people that he didn’t know, for no price at all. He hated this ridiculous clinic, and how Anders poured all his time and energy into it, driving himself to the edge of collapse and all these people would do is turn around ask for more.

Anders hair fell into his eyes a little, and Fenris hated that too, those wisps of hair that flee the half tied up style he wore that served no practical purpose at all. He’d be better of cutting it off entirely, it would be far more functional as a healer, and it wouldn’t keep falling into those eyes that the elf couldn’t stand, honey-brown, large and endearing; he looked like a puppy, he was supposed to be a grown man.

The last patient of the day left with a smile and a thank you, and Anders closed the door, turning to Fenris who sat nearby, always wary of who might enter the clinic.

“I am done for the day if you want to take your brooding elsewhere.” Anders smirked, yet another attribute to the Mage that Fenris couldn’t not stand, lips twitching as he mocked the elf who bared his teeth in a sneer, standing and prowling towards the Mage who folded his arms, apparently unintimidated.

Fenris drew near, eyes flicking to the mages mouth as Anders licked his lips, betraying his true nervousness, and he hated that. He was too easy to read, his thoughts and feelings falling from his face in spite of any efforts to hide it. Not that he did often, always unable to keep his mouth shut. It was going to get him killed one of these days.

The Mage licked his lips again and the thing Fenris hates most about the Mage is just how much he wants to kiss him.

They stare at each other few moments more before something snaps, the months of loathing and anger and desire and desperate unrelenting want finally becoming too much, like a thread pulled too tight inside Fenris’ head.

“To hell with it.” He mutters, and before Anders can ask him what he means he is pressing their mouths together, kissing the Mage deeply as he threads his fingers into that damnable hair, shoving Anders back against the door as the man’s arms come up around him.

His last coherent thought is how he hates just how good Anders tastes.


	17. Fenris catches a sick Anders trying to sneak out to the clinic.

“Go back to bed.”

Fenris stood in the doorway, having returned from his run to the market a lot sooner than Anders had anticipated, staring at the mage flatly as he tried to make himself look as small and meek as was possible for a tall man trying to do what he explicitly been told not to, trying and failing to hide the cough that wracked his lungs.

“My patients need me!” Anders protested, giving up on his hunch and puppy eyes in favour of (what he considered to be) a solid argument.

Fenris was having none of it. 

“Bed.” He repeated. “Now, mage.” 

Anders pouted, stepping towards the door. 

“I am bigger than you. I do not have to put up with this, HEY!”

Anders was swept off his feet, thrown over Fenris’s shoulder with ease, making to wave his hands in protest only to find that coupled with his cold that it made the whole experience a lot more terrifying, and he settled for bracing his hands on Fenris back until he was unceremoniously dumped back into his bed.

Fenris smirked down at him.

“Good mage. Now stay.” He headed back out to the clinic as Anders continued to pout, ignoring the cry of ‘I am not a dog’ at his back.


	18. Anagapesis - The feeling when one no longer loves someone they once did.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One-sided past Handers mentioned

Anders didn’t love Hawke.

It was a realization that had been slow in coming, scratching at the back of his mind as the weeks passed, but he had not wanted to accept it. 

There was something comforting in the knowledge of that fact; Anders Loved Hawke. 

Everyone in their little group knew it. Maker, Hawke knew it. Three years Anders had thought of little else, Hawke always a presence at the back of his mind as he went about his life. It was just Known. Varric is short, Merrill has a sweet-tooth, Anders is in love with Hawke.

This fact was so ingrained that Anders didn’t notice when he began to fall for Fenris. 

The elf was always there, loitering around, even guarding the clinic at Hawke’s request, and Anders always assumed it borne purely of the fact Hawke asked, and he was able to keep a better eye on the Abomination if he stuck around. 

It was inevitable that they would talk, or at least, Anders would talk at Fenris, and eventually he responded with something that didn’t end in an insult.

It was insidious, so much so that Anders didn’t realise he was doing it. He began to look less at Hawke during missions, it didn’t hurt as much when he flirted with Isabela, the mage able to laugh at their antics without the bone deep ache of longing that always accompanied it. He didn’t attempt to sit by Hawke at the Hanged Man anymore, and he didn’t meet him outside of his home. It didn’t feel as important anymore, he was going to see him anyway, what did it matter?

So busy in noticing the things he didn’t do, Anders didn’t take heed of the ones that he did. In not looking at Hawke, his eyes drifted to Fenris, wondering on his opinion on a drunken fool who’d come into the clinic thinking it was a brothel the night before, and needed escorting out by the elf whilst Anders laughed himself silly. 

Half of Hawke and Isabela’s nonsense was missed as they talked at the back, Varric jibing at them to keep up whilst Anders made rude gestures. He never had to fight for a seat at Wicked Grace any longer, Fenris would have kept the one next to him free, and when the game ended, they would leave together, Fenris dismissing any questions with a simple ‘Darktown is too dangerous for the fool of a mage’, the two of them leaving ignorant to the knowing looks of their friends behind them.

It came to Anders suddenly, as he was waiting for Fenris at the entrance of Hightown, the elf uncommonly late this morning and Anders was growing worried, wondering if he should make his way to the mansion.

Fenris rounded the corner, perfectly fine and whole and the wave of relief that flooded Anders engulfed his entire being, and then it hit him.

He was no longer in love with Hawke.

He was uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the day, drawing concern from the entire group, but mostly Fenris, who spent the entire time frowning at him, trying to draw him into conversation that usually flowed from the Mage with ease.

Anders summarily dismissed their attempts, waving them off with a smile to try and ease their concerns when they returned to Kirkwall, heading back to Darktown to his bed and his thoughts, unable to feel Fenris’ intense gaze on his back as he left.

Anders lay in bed that night, palms pressed to his eyes, head aching with this new-found knowledge. It just Was. Hawke had been his best friend for three years, probably the best he’d ever had if he was honest, and he was in love with him.

Except he wasn’t. Anders loved Hawke. Anders was no longer in love with Hawke.

He was in love with Fenris. 

Sleep was a long time coming that night, and when slumber finally came to Anders, the eyes that haunted his sleep were no longer brown, but green.


	19. Duende - Unusual power to attract or charm.

Fenris cannot figure out how he does it. If he didn’t know better, he’d blame it on the magic, but he’s known mages without a single drop of charisma in their bodies, and he just knows this isn’t something that can be pulled out of thin air with a spell.

The young shopkeepers are giggling as Anders jokes with them, and it would be absurd to suggest that Fenris is jealous.

He just doesn’t like it. 

Anders claims that it is learnt, a skill wrought of growing up in the Circle, of being on the run, needed to survive and outmaneuver the Templars and the Chantry, gained him allies where he should have had none, and some of this may be true, undoubtedly honed by his experiences.

But there is something else there, something innate that Fenris is certain cannot be taught.

Something he is certain he will never possess. 

Anders turns back to him with a bag of the herbs he needed, the price having been knocked down by a third in the short time he had taken to talk with the young man and woman, working a magic that has nothing to do with the Fade. 

In another life, he might have been a good politician. There is something inherently likable about the mage, beyond his bad jokes and preaching.

Not that Fenris will ever tell him that. His head is big enough already.

Anders smiles at him, taking the elfs hand in his own in plain view, and Fenris feels particularly smug as he squeezes the mages fingers, both of the attendants faces crestfallen as they realise they have been expertly played for a discount.

“Ready to go, love?” Anders asks, pressing a soft kiss to the elfs cheek and Fenris sighs with fond exasperation at the mages open affection.

There really is a charm to Anders that few are able to resist, and whilst it had taken longer than most, Fenris had fallen like the rest. 

At least he was fortunate enough to be able to call the mage his.


	20. Tarantism- the urge to overcome melancholy by dancing

Tarantism- the urge to overcome melancholy by dancing

Fenris’ scowl deepens as he watches the villagers dancing in front of them, a large fire burning as they cool enough to feed their tiny village four times over, more than willing to feed the two strangers who had ambled into their festivity despite not knowing a single thing about them.

He can’t decide whether he envies their carefree life or pities their naive ignorance.

He’s not sure it ever will be.

Anders sits next to him, both reluctant to stray too far from the other and whilst the Mage watches the villagers dance with a small wistful smile on his face, he is just as anxious as Fenris, eager to get as much distance between themselves and that cursed city as possible. The Mages foot taps the floor in a way not borne of the beat of the music, fingers trembling where they press against Fenris’ own at his side. His finger twitches occasionally and he want to take his hand, but the small comfort is not worth the undeniable risk.

They will eat their fill as soon as the food is ready and be back on their way. It is not safe to linger.

It is a fleeting thought, the desire to feel the mages hand in his own as he pulls him up, that damnable smile on his face like the time Fenris found a kitten on his way to the clinic and brought it with him on a whim. The endearing smile that had spread out over Anders face had almost been too much to bear.

The desire is the same and Fenris wonders what harm it would do really, to take this for themselves, just for a moment. Anders would look up at him with that ridiculous smile as he offered his hand, pulling him into his arms as he leads him around the fire, out of time with the music but it wouldn’t matter as he grips the Mages waist, pulling them tighter together.

No-one would pay them heed, they are not know here and Anders would laugh when Fenris steps on his feet, the elf scowling as he claims the mages mouth, kissing him until he is breathless and unable to laugh.

He is startled out of his reverie by Anders sitting back down beside him, pressing a chipped wooden bowl of meat and vegetables into his hands.

“Are you alright?” He asks quietly, and Fenris gives a brisk nod.

“I am fine.”

He had not realised the Mage had left his side.

He eats the simple fare fast, eyes darting to the man at his side who is eating with similar urgency. He remembers that the kitten had died, sickly and weak despite Anders best efforts to save it. The Mage had been distraught and Fenris had regretted ever finding the creature.

He pushes all thoughts of dancing out of his mind. It does not do to dwell on foolish inclinations.

They finish eating and they stand to leave, briskly thanking the woman next to them for the hospitality which is barely acknowledged, the woman too wrapped up in the joy of the evening to take any real notice.

Flames at their backs once more, they disappear into the darkness, and they do not dance.


	21. Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about a fenders situation where they aren´t in a relationship yet but it is the first time one of them shows that he is worried about the other. maybe fenris is worried because something has happend to anders and anders is eally irritated

Anders was tired. Anders was grumpy, and annoyed, he ached and he was so very, very tired. Mana drained and barely able to concentrate on more than putting one foot in the other, his hard, uncomfortable cot at the clinic seemed like the most appealing thing in the world and he could barely wait to get back to Kirkwall.

It also meant the elf would stop staring at him.

He’d felt Fenris’ eyes on him from the moment they’d started heading back, and his gaze was beginning to feel as much of a weight as the staff on his back.

He just wanted him to get it over with; berate him, insult him, blame him for the head slaver getting away, whatever it was that would stop him fixing his eyes intently on Anders.

Finally they slid back into Kirkwall, Hawke and Varric heading immediately for the Hanged Man, inviting Anders and Fenris, but both shook their heads, Anders too eager to get some semblance of sleep before the nightmares came, and Justice decided he was wasting too much time resting. He didn’t know the elf’s reasons. He didn’t care too.

He had a feeling he was going to find out though, when Fenris continued to follow him, not turning to Hightown, but stalking the mage nearly halfway back to Darktown before Anders had enough, turning round and snapping at him, too tired for any jesting.

“Out with it!” he spat “ Tell me how I endangered all of us, tell me how my getting in the way cost us another slave master, remind me how useless and weak I am, please, so I can go home and rest without you hovering and judging me for the rest of the way.” 

Fenris stopped in his tracks, mouth half-open and staring at Anders.

“Can you make it back to the clinic well enough?” He said finally, almost inaudible and Anders stared at him incredulously.

“What?”

“You can make it back, you are not too fatigued, too injured?” Fenris continued, voice a little stronger.

“Um…yes, I will be fine.” Anders defensive stance dropped, feeling lost as Fenris’ stare held no anger, no heat, but… was that concern? 

“Then I shall take my leave” Fenris inclined his head. “Good night, Mage.”

Anders watched as the elf turned and left, unable to find words.

The elf was worried about him?

He shook his head. ‘That was ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous’ he told himself, turning and continuing on to Darktown. 

But the look in Fenris’ eyes stayed with him long after he fell into his cot, and he couldn’t help but wonder until he finally fell asleep.


	22. on a date

One run-in with Templars that had them fleeing before any of them realised Anders had cast that spell. Two encounters with old companions of Hawkes from his mercenary days, demanding the money he owed them from his companions. One upstart dwarf claiming he was going to take out Varric Tethras as Kirkwalls best Source of Information, that was easily put down by Anders pointing out he can’t be that good if he’s asking them where Varric is, followed by the Heavens opening above them, the formerly blue sky a dark ominous grey as they took shelter under a wide awning, the street vendor Fenris had intended for them to eat from having fled at the first drops.

Thus far, the date had been an utter disaster.

He flopped down onto the bench under the awning with grunt, scowling out at the world that seemed intent on ruining this for him.

Perhaps he should take it as a sign.

Anders sat next to him, treating the bench a lot more gently, pressing their legs together thigh to knee as he bumped Fenris with his shoulder.

“It’s just rain, Fenris, not the end of the world.” He laughed gently, growing somber when Fenris shrugged in reply.

“What is it?” Anders asked softly.

“Everything that could have gone wrong has. I wanted to give you one normal date, just us together for the first time since we started…this.” Fenris gestured between them “We have been hounded non-stop and now this.”

“Anders hummed. “Plagued by Hawke and Varrics mess, no food and Kirkwall’s spontaneous weathers. Sounds like a normal enough time for me, around here anyway.” He smiled as Fenris turned to him, taking the elfs hand and threading their fingers together.

“You are not disappointed?” Fenris asked, frowning in confusion.

Anders shook his head, leaning in to press a kiss to Fenris’ cheek.

“I’ve never really gone in for normal to be honest"

Fenris looked down at their joined hands, squeezing their fingers tightly together before capturing Anders face and pulling him in for a deep kiss, forgetting about the awful day and the rain.

Dates were a ridiculous convention anyway.


	23. Fireside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fenders making love (doesn't need to be explicit!) by the fire, out in the open under the stars, whatever place! :) bonus if anders is extra passionate this time! either fanfic/fanart would be lovely~

The fire was hot on his back, but it was nothing compared to the heat of the Mage around him, the heat of Anders gaze as he looked firmly into his eyes, holding Fenris’ face and brushing his thumb over his skin, He traced down the elfs skin to where his brands shone brightly under his lip, as they always did when they…were together. 

‘When you make love’ Fenris’ treacherous mind whispered.

His hips pressed more firmly into the man below him, Anders hitching his legs up around Fenris’ waist, crossing his ankles over the elfs lower back and gasping, head falling back. 

Fenris closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, Anders is watching him, intensely. Fenris frowns, and Anders thumb brushes his cheek again.

“I do not want to lose this.” He says, so quietly the words are almost lost in the crackling of the fire. 

Fenris does not know what to say to that, his lips parting for words that will not come. Anders smiles, but it is tinted with sadness, and he slides his hand into Fenris’ hair.

“It’s alright.” He murmurs. “I don’t expect you to say anything you do not want to.” 

His hands still run through Fenris’ hair, comforting and calm, eyes still so sad, and Fenris cannot stand it, leaning down and bracketing the Mage in his arms, claiming his lips and pressing him into the floor.

Fenris might not be able to find the words, but he’ll do his damn best to show Anders that he is safe, and that he is loved.


	24. Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders shows Fenris other uses for magic that he never thought of.

“What is that?” Fenris stares at the glowing bird perched on Anders desk. It bobs it’s head at him and he approaches it warily, reaching out his hand and snatching it back when his gauntlet passes right through it.

“Hmm?” Anders looks up from where he is sat rolling bandages, glancing at the bird. “It is a bird.”

The glare Fenris gives him would turn a lesser man to ice. Luckily, Anders is accustomed to his lovers moods and simply chuckles.

“It’s just an illusion, not some evil demon sparrow, in case you were wondering. The milk didn’t work, so I thought having a bird flitting about in here might attract a cat in. No such luck yet though.” Anders places down the bandage he was rolling, holding his hand out. The bird flies to him instantly, perched on his outstretched hand and turns to look back at Fenris again.

“What purpose does that possibly serve?” Fenris asks, folding his arms.

Anders shrugs, dropping his hand as the bird flits around the clinic again.

“Night lights mostly, for the kids in the circle. Not really much to them beyond that, other than looking pretty.”

“Where is the point in that?” Fenris walks over to Anders, watching the blue glowing bird with a frown. Anders looks up at the elf.

“Does there need to be one?” He asks “Not all magic is healing, fireballs and sex, no matter what Isabela might have you believe. The kids like it, it doesn’t drain much mana and it’s kind of cute, in its way.” Anders grins “though I would vastly prefer a cat.”

The bird draws closer, hopping onto the edge of the cot before flying up to perch on Fenris’ gauntlet, this time landing rather than passing through. He stiffens, but does not move, looking at it.

“It is…somewhat endearing.” He says eventually. The bird peeps at him, an soft echoing noise that no real bird would make before flying away towards the window, perching on the sill. Anders stands, picking up his basket of bandages and leaning down to peck a kiss to Fenris’ cheek with a grin.

“That’s the spirit.”

Fenris grunts an affirmative noise, which Anders takes positively and moves to place the basket on the shelf, moving to the back of the clinic to collect another lot.

Fenris leans back on the wall, and watches the bird.


	25. Bandages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute bandaging up of wounds when they get back from a mission.

“You should be more careful.” Fenris chides, wrapping the bandage around Anders forearm, tucking the ends in firmly. The wound is already healing, but it won’t hurt to keep it protected. “Why not simply heal it?”

Anders inspects the bandage, impressed at how well it is wrapped, but he does not need to ask why Fenris is so good at it. Fenris was a slave, and Anders is no fool, though he can play the part well.

“My mana was drained whilst we were out, and it has already started to heal without my assistance now.” He explains “It’s better to let it take care of itself now, it’s clean and wrapped, that will be enough and I can save my mana for the clinic, and that rather nasty cut on your head.” Anders smiles at Fenris, the elf still on one knee before him on the cot.

Anders reaches out for Fenris’ head, but the elf moves away, scowling.

“I am fine, Mage. Leave it” he chides “surely you do not intend to open the clinic now? We have barely been back an hour and it is nearly sundown.”

“I can open for a couple of hours. I have been out with Hawke a lot as of late, there are people who need me.” Anders replies, leaning back on the cot with his uninjured arm, moving his other so he links their fingers in front of him.

Fenris continues to scowl.

“You always think people need you, Mage. You need to take care of yourself once in a while.” Fenris squeezes their fingers, and Anders laughs, shaking his head and pulling the elf towards him so he is between his legs, leaning back further so Fenris is forced to rest over him, laying sideways on the cot that is shortly going to be murder on his back.

“You understand just how hypocritical that is coming from you, don’t you?” Anders smirks “Besides, I have a cut on my arm, I am not bed-ridden.”

Fenris sighs, placing both his hands on Anders forehead, thumbs tracking the skin around his eyes as he looks down at him. Anders lifts his hand to the cut congealing along the elfs forehead and around to his ear, fingers hovering but not touching.

“Please?”

“…Fine.” Fenris huffs, and the familiar warm feeling of Anders magic is already rushing through him, the skin on his head pulling as it knits back together. “But you are not opening the clinic tonight, we are going to Wicked Grace.”

Anders opens his mouth to protest, and Fenris places a finger against his lips.

“Just this once, don’t argue.” Anders looks up at Fenris curiously, the question in his eyes “I want to see you relax for once without having worked yourself to the point of collapse for it to happen, Anders.”

His argument dies on his lips at the look in Fenris’ eyes, and he smiles then nods, kissing the finger that is still pressed to his lips before taking hold of it and kissing Fenris’ palm.

“Okay.” He replies “but just this once. I do enjoy having you rush in when I swoon after all.”

Fenris growls, pressing Anders further down into the uncomfortable cot.

“You really are impossible, Mage.” He says before claiming Anders lips in a fierce kiss.

They are two hours late when they eventually make it to Wicked Grace.


	26. Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> making each other laugh

“…and then Corf swore he’d ban Hawke and Varric for life!” Anders laughed, leaning back in Fenris’ lap, looking up at him. “He never did of course, but I don’t think I’d laughed so hard in a long time.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow, mouth twitching in a grin.

“ I do not remember this, but it sounds like an evening I would not have approved of at the time.” He replied, using his palm to brush Anders hair back, tangling his fingers in the messy locks that now passed the mages shoulders.

“This wasn’t long after we met you, when you preferred brooding in your mansion to making friends with anyone.” Anders smirked at him, and Fenris tugged his hair a little harder.

“Perhaps I was simply trying to prevent myself from murdering this particularly annoying Mage that my new friends insisted on hanging around with.” Fenris smirked, and Anders laughed, pulling himself up to lean back against the elf, resting his head on his shoulder as Fenris’ arms came around his waist, hugging him tightly.

“That is a very distinct possibility.” He said, resting his hands over Fenris’. His mirth died, and he leaned more heavily against Fenris with a sigh, looking out at the clearing in front of them.

They would have to begin moving again soon.

“We will see them again.” Fenris said after a while into the quiet of the clearing. Anders squeezed his hands.

“Is that optimism, Fenris?” He laughed hollowly “Now I know the world is ending.”

Fenris shook his head in exasperation, but chuckled all the same.

“I know our friends. They will not give up on us. Hawke and Varric will come to us after they have dealt with the Inquisition.”

“Do you really believe that?” Anders asked, quietly.

“I have to.” Fenris spoke with conviction, and whilst he couldn’t entirely believe him, it was a comfort.

“Besides, we are together and that is what matters” Fenris said fiercely, and held Anders tighter.

Anders smiled, leaning back further on the elfs shoulder and pressing their lips together as Fenris turned his head.

They were together, one day Hawke would return and there would be laughter again.

There had to be.


	27. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> under the same shelter waiting for the rain to pass

“When will this cursed rain stop?” Fenris grumbles, tucking himself back further under the small awning they had managed to find before the light rain turned into a deluge, forcing them to shelter rather than continue on to Hightown.

“Oh I don’t know about that.” Anders replies, looking up at the darkened sky. Lightening flashes across the clouds, and he smiles. “I quite like thunderstorms.”

“That’s because you’re a fool.” Fenris replies. 

He absolutely does not flinch when the thunder sounds.

“Its weather, it will pass.” Anders is not swayed by Fenris’ insults, he never is. “I find them relaxing. Washing away the weary day, and then when the sun breaks through, the atmosphere is all the nicer for it. Besides….”

Anders sidles closer, twining their fingers together and Fenris clutches them even as he scowls at the mage.

“…There’s just something about being in thunderstorms with someone…important that I love.” 

Anders grins, and Fenris sighs,pressing the length of their arms together too. 

“Fool mage.” He says, and leans back against the wall to watch the sky.


	28. The Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is Fenris's reaction to people trying to hire Anders at the Rose?

“That’s it, I said if anyone tried to hire me again, I’m leaving.” Anders said in exasperation, turning to the door. Hawke and Isabela were ‘investigating’ at the bar, whilst Fenris glowered from his seat in the corner at anyone who so much as glanced at him. They didn’t need him here today. 

He made to push past the man who had propositioned him, but a large arm came down in front of him braced against the wall as the man pressed closer.

“I said ‘how much’?” He repeated, eyes fixed on Anders lips. 

“Yes, I heard you, and I told you, I am not for hire. Go and find someone else” Anders scowled, stepping back and tensing when the mans other arm came up, bracketing him against the wall, trapping him. He didn’t like feeling trapped.

Justice really didn’t like feeling trapped.

“I don’t want someone else. I want you.” The man pressed closer still. Anders had to close his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tried to stay calm.

Possessed mages splattering the clients over the brothel was going to be bad for business, which in turn wasn’t going to be doing Hawke any favours when he needed the Rose for information. He pressed back against the wall, trying to create as much space as possible between himself and the large man.

“He said no.” 

“Who asked you?”

The man turned, then dropped his head to look at Fenris, who had moved from glowering in his corner to scowling at the man nearly completely silently.

“He said no.” Fenris gripped the handle of his sword. “I will not repeat myself a third time.”

The man glanced around him, to where the clubs bouncers had not moved, but all had their attention now trained on the little scene, back to Fenris, or more specifically, the sword on his back, which he slid up as the man looked just to assure him he was more than capable of lifting it with ease.

There was a still moment in which Anders eyes darted between the elf and man, desperately pleading with him in his mind to give it up. 

Fenris would probably make a worse mess than Justice.

The man grunted, arms dropping away as he looked Anders up and down once more. 

“Not that good-looking anyway.” He mumbled before sloping off, the gaze of the bouncers on him making sure he made a beeline for the door.

Anders looked to Fenris, cocking his head curiously.

“Why?” he asked, wincing as Fenris cracked his knuckles.

“Your demon making an appearance wasn’t going to do our investigation any favours, mage.” Fenris answered. “Besides, you said no.”

The elf pushes past him, moving towards the door. 

“I am going back to the Hanged Man, Hawke and Isabela have no need of me here.” Fenris states. hand on the handle of the door. He does not invite Anders, but looks at him pointedly, not opening it until the mage is following him out of the door, heading out of the Red Light District, back to Lowtown and far, far away from the Rose.


	29. We'll find each other again.

_If you love something, let it go…_

“We will find each other again.” Anders says quietly, looking away over the horizon, out towards the sea. Kirkwall is so very far away now, and his voice quivers as he speaks. “In another life, a life where we are both equal. Where we are both free.”

Fenris has said nothing since Anders began to talk, as he tells him it is better that they part ways. The silence makes it worse, and Anders babbles.

It is better, he tells himself fiercely, holding back his tears. He does not deserve them, he brought this on himself, he knew the consequences and Fenris does not deserve this. He still has a chance at a normal life, a happy life.

He will not tie him down to a fugitive apostate. Danarius is gone, after all this time and Anders won’t take that chance of a life away from him.

“If you go back to Kirkwall now, you might still…”

“I am not going anywhere.” Fenris speaks for the first time in an hour, Anders turning to face him where he sits on a fallen log, fingers laced in front of his face as he watches Anders begin to pace, running his hands through his loosened hair, his only tie having snapped whilst they fled.

“you can’t!” Anders pleads, dropping to the floor in front of Fenris, hands on his knees. “Your life, your freedom, everything you have fought for. I will not take that away from you, I cannot!” Anders head falls forward, hair falling in his face to hide his tears as they fall, clenching his fists on his knees in anger. He is not worthy of them.

“Do you honestly think that I would be here if I did not want to be?” Fenris says quietly. Anders lifts his head, eyes red and sore, frowning at the elf, who reaches down and takes Anders trembling hands into his own. “In the entire time you have known me, have you ever been able to make me do something I did not wish to do?”

Anders goes to speak, but is immediately hushed.

“Quiet, Mage, you have spoke enough. It is my turn. I do not want a normal life. I have never had a normal life, I do not think I would know what to do with one if I had it.” Fenris says, moving his hands to cradle Anders face, comforting him as well as ensuring he is unable to look away. “However, I am quite experienced at being a fugitive, and rather good at it now. I want to be here, I want to be with you. I am not going anywhere, and if you dare try and sneak off in the night, I am going to hunt you down for the rest of my days.”

Fenris wipes away a falling year with his thumb, leaning in and pressing his lips to Anders forehead. “This is my choice. You do not get to decide this for me.”

Anders, for possibly the first time that he can remember, cannot speak, cannot find the words, and his tears fall silently, mouth open as he looks to Fenris imploringly. The elf smiles at him mildly and pulls him forward, tucking his head into his shoulder as he strokes Anders hair, the mages arms coming up to cling tightly at his back.

Fenris rubs Anders back, looking at Kirkwall in the distance, the burning city a crude imitation of the sun that set hours ago.

He presses a kiss to Anders temple, tucking him closer as a chill wind passes them by, able to feel warm tears on the part of his arm that is bared and sighs, turning Anders to look at him.

“I am not going anywhere.” He says firmly, leaning in until their lips nearly touch, barely a breath away.

“Fool Mage.”

_…if it comes back, it is yours forever._


	30. Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bathing a cat.

The yelling within the mansion had Anders hand on his staff the moment he entered the door, looking around frantically for whomever was instigating the attack.

“Blasted cat!” Fenris voice rang out through the mansion, followed by a splash, and then an incredibly fluffy cat came barrelling out of the door that lead to the kitchens, eyes darting around before spying Anders and rushing to him, dashing up his leg and trembling in his arms.

Anders smiled widely at the creature in his arms, stroking the puffed out ginger fur as wide green eyes shrank as the cat began to calm, though widening again when Fenris appeared in the doorway, huddling tighter into Anders arms.

Anders did his best not to laugh, biting at his lip, shoulders shaking with the exertion.

Fenris was soaked, head to toe, a towel in his hand and murder in his eyes.

“Do not laugh, Mage.”

Anders wondered if it was possibly to explode from contained humour. He took a moment to regain himself, letting go of the cat who apparently had decided it was safe now, and wiggled out of his arms to go and nose at the coat stand.

“You should really know better than to try and bathe a cat, Fenris.” He managed eventually, proud of how steady he kept his voice. The smirk was impossible to remove however.

“The creature smelled.” Fenris threw the towel down, glaring at the cat which was passing around, exploring its surroundings “It needed to be clean before you arrived.”

“Looks like both of you are pretty clean now.” Anders laughed “what’s his name?”

“I assumed you would want to give it some ridiculous moniker.” Fenris replied, and Anders turned to look at the cat, which stopped its nosing and looked to him briefly.

“Messere Pussy Snookums.” He said decisively.

Fenris twitched, but said nothing.

Anders watched Messere Pussy Snookums a moment more before turning back to Fenris.

“You got me a cat.” He grinned.

There was a weight on Fenris’s foot, and the elf looked down to see the cat perched upon his foot, leaning against his leg and looking up at him. He looked back to Anders, who scooped the cat up into his arms.

“A cat has been acquired.” Fenris replied, and Anders just shook his head, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the elfs cheek.

“Thank you.” Anders said softly, and the addressed the cat. “Come, Messere Pussy Snookums. Let’s see if this grumpy elf has anything you can eat in this silly mansion.”

Anders disappeared through the door into the kitchen, and Fenris sighed before a small smile graced his face, grabbing the towel from the floor and drying his hair as he followed them into the kitchen.


	31. Teasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela teasing them the morning after as she could see their outlines as they fucked becasue of fenris glowing

“You’re a lot more flexible now then, sparklefingers?” Isabela said casually, spooning porridge into her mouth. Fenris grimaced.

“Pardon?” Anders asked, but he knew what was coming, cheeks beginning to pink. He was surprised she’d restrained herself this long.

“Well, the glowing suddenly cut off around where Fenris’ head should be last night, so I’m assuming those long legs of yours were wrapped rather nicely around his shoulders.” She waved her spoon. “I hope you’re doing your stretches or that kind of thing is murder on the back.” 

Anders coughed and looked aside, pointedly not looking at Fenris, but ready to hold him back if necessary.

“Quiet, wench.” Fenris said, voice low. Anders put his bowl down, prepared.

“Those lyrium lines really go alllll the way, don’t they?” Isabela leaned forward, smiling with lidded eyes at Fenris. 

Anders stood just as Fenris did.

“Let’s go for a walk!” He stepped in front of the elf, hands on his shoulders. “Please?”

Fenris took a deep breath, glaring at the pirate before turning away.

“…Fine.”

Anders glanced at Isabela as they left, mouthing ‘you owe me’

She simply laughed, and Varric raised a brow at her, impressed.

“You’ve got a death wish,Rivaini.” He said, shaking his head as Hawke and Isabela hi-fived.


	32. Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m so angry at you for putting yourself in that situation but so relieved you survived.

Anders bit his lip as he stepped into the mansion, Fenris closing the door behind them and dropping the latch, the silence between them weighted, having grown heavier since they departed from the group, Fenris gesturing for Anders to follow him with a simple, quiet “Mage. A word.” 

Anders had nodded to Hawke and the others, and followed quietly, already worrying his lip as he followed Fenris to hightown.

He could practically feel the groups concern boring into his back, and tried to turn back over his shoulder with a grin and quip, but his mind was blank, and so he followed in silence. Fenris did not look back at him.

He took a breath, turning to face the elf.

“Fenris, I am…”

“Quiet, Mage.” Fenris’ eyes bore into him, his face light dimly by a strip of light from a broken window and making him more intimidating than usual in the dark. Not that Anders ever really gave into his broody demeanour, but this was different.

“Please, I was only…”

“What? Head them off on your own? Try to protect Merrill, protect me? You went rushing in with no idea of the situation and it would have been the end for you!” Fenris’ voice rose as he spoke, stepping forward towards Anders and forcing the Mage back until he was backed against the wall by the door, Fenris only a few inches from his face. “You had no idea who they were, what they wanted.”

“I knew they were slavers.” Anders breathed. “I knew they were hired to take Hawkes companions. It made sense. I wanted to head them off, quickly and quietly before they came for Merrill. Before they came for you.” Anders eyes drifted up, staring at the corner of the roof as his eyes stung. Fenris’ hand slammed to the wall beside his head, making him flinch.

“They weren’t here for us.” Fenris hissed. “They were here for you! They were prepared, with collars, and magebane, and you went alone! If it wasn’t for Isabela and Aveline, I would have lost you!” 

Fenris voice wavered, and Anders turned to look at him, blinking.

“They know what they’re doing. You would have been gone, sold and I would never have been to find you! You’d be gone without a single trace, not a lead to follow, and you practically handed yourself to them!”

He grabbed Anders shoulders, tears falling from the corners of his eyes in rage.

“How could I fall in love with someone so stupid?” 

Anders forgot about holding back his own tears, mouth dropping open in shock.

Fenris had said it first.

He’d not expected it at all, it wasn’t like that. They weren’t like that and if anyone was going to blurt it out first, Anders thought it was going to be him.

“You love me?” He whispered, as if it might disappear and be unsaid if he was too loud.

“I love you, you idiotic fool of a mage, and I nearly lost you for good.” Fenris’ hands came to grip Anders face, mindful of his clawed armour as he pressed their bodies firmly together, lips touching Anders own gently. “Don’t you dare do anything so ridiculous, so fantastically stupid ever again.” 

Anders released a shaky breath, Fenris’ hastily pulling off his hand coverings and reaching up to wipe away the tears that streaked the mages’ face. 

“I can’t make any promises.” He replied with a watery smile. Fenris scowled, opening his mouth to launch into another tirade when Anders spoke out, trembling beneath Fenris’ touch.

“I love you.” 

Fenris glare softened, letting out a sign and pulling Anders forward into his embrace, his arms tightening as Anders own came around him, the taller man letting his head drop down onto the elfs’ shoulder, Fenris turning to press a kiss to his temple. 

No doubt there would be further words later, but for now they stood and held each other in comfortable silence, feeling secure, and safe, and loved.


	33. Swimming

Anders is already running to the edge of the cliff edge the moment he sees Fenris disappear over the edge, throwing down his staff and pulling off his coats, getting tangled in them in his haste and fear.

“Fenris!” He cries out, Varric and Aveline making swift work of the remaining foes whilst Hawke runs to Anders, coming up to grab him round the waist and prevent him jumping in after the elf. 

“It’s not a big drop, Anders. Calm down.” Hawke chides, pulling him back. Anders fights, elbowing at the larger man best he can, but his strength is no match for Hawkes, and Justice is not going to help him here. 

He does not approve of the distraction Fenris is to Anders.

“He can’t swim!” Anders argues, trying to pull away still reaching for the edge where Fenris had vanished. “None of the mages I was with in the Circle could swim, I got lucky, being taken old. Danarius would never allow him..”

Hawke squeezed his waist tighter with one arm, pointing past Anders head.

“Look.” Anders stops thrashing, looking out a little distance to short where Fenris bobs, treading water, hair plastered to his face and blinking in confusion as he looks around.

“I didn’t know he could swim.” Anders murmurs as Hawke lets him go, no longer concerned about the Mage flinging himself into the sea.

“If it makes you feel better, Blondie.” Varric smirks as he steps up beside them ‘”it doesn’t look like Broody did either.”

Fenris disappears beneath the waves a few times as he swims to shore, his sword, armour and leathers weighing him down, nothing elegant to his technique, but enough to have him walking out of the sea and onto the sand, shaking his head and limbs with a grunt of displeasure, hair plastered to his head.

Anders is down the steep slope before anyone can stop him, Hawke sighing and collecting his staff for him whilst the Mage runs to Fenris, taking his face into his hands and gazing at him with scrutiny whilst Fenris scowls back at him.

“I am fine, Mage. Stop worrying.” He chides, though he does not knock Anders back.

“I did not know you could swim.” Anders replies quietly, pressing his forehead to Fenris’s wet skin. “I was worried.”

Fenris hesitates, swallowing the instant dismissal that wants to leap from his tongue. Whilst he can brush things like this off easily, Anders needs the reassurance, and he has chose to commit to this.

“Neither did I. Danarius never allowed me to learn.”

“The Circle doesn’t allow for it either, too easy to escape that way.” Anders steps back, but still takes one of Fenris’ hands in his own, smiling softly at him. “It must have been muscle memory. From before.”

Fenris stills entirely, closing his eyes.

“From before.”

Anders opens his mouth to speak again, but Aveline’s voice rings out before his.

“If everyone is done being dramatic, we do actually have business to take care of.”

Anders sighs, smiling at Fenris once more before dropping his hand, turning and taking his staff from Hawke, who rolls his eyes before looking to Fenris.

“You good?” 

“Fine”

“Fantastic, off we go then!” Garrett claps his hands, grinning at Varric before looking to Aveline, who takes her turn to roll her eyes, turning to climb back up the ridge to the path, Hawke and Varric close behind, the other Mage reaching out a hand to help his dwarf friend.

Anders steps forward to follow when a damp hand pulls him back, turned to face Fenris when the elf’s hand slides into his hair, pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. 

“You do not need to worry about me, mage.” He murmurs against Anders lips. 

“I want to.” Anders replies quietly. “It’s about time you had someone to worry about you.”

“Fool mage.” Fenris’ curt answer belies the emotion behind it, and Anders grins as the elf pushes him to the ridge, insisting that the Mage climb up before him. Anders glances over his shoulder and shakes his hips at him before pulling himself back up the path. 

Fenris lets out a snort that could be either amusement or annoyance in equal measure, taking one last inquisitive look back at the sea before pulling himself up after Anders and the rest of their group.


	34. Fool Mage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris watching Anders work in his clinic, then steps in when he goes for too long without rest or food.

The mage is a fool.

Fenris had come to this conclusion sometime ago. Within moments of meeting him actually, but it always bore repeating. He enjoys it, and Maker know that the Mage needs to be reminded of it near constantly. 

Anders head hangs low as he wraps a bandage around a foot of a child, the skin healed but raw, the bandage a precaution until the healing process is entirely complete. His head is not hung so low out of a need for precision, Anders is running near empty. Fenris has not seen him stop to eat or rest since he arrived first thing that morning, and only taken one cup of water in that entire time. He wonders if the Mage has eaten at all since yesterday. Perhaps not even since the day before, since he was indisposed the previous day and unable to keep an eye on him.

For a man so intent on keep others healthy, he is shockingly poor at maintining himself. 

Anders smiles wearily as he finished, tucking the ends of the bandage into place, eyes lighting up as the child thanks him, but it will never disguise the dark circles under his eyes, or the way his body sways with exhaustion as he stands. The child runs out of the clinic with a wave, eyeing Fenris warily as he passes the elf who carries an extremely large sword. It has earned him fear and admiration from the urchins who mill around the sewers surrounding the clinic. 

Fenris knows which he prefers, glowering at a man outside as he steps out, snuffing out the lamp and closing the door.

It is a testimony to how tired Anders is that he does not protest at all, wavering in place as Fenris stalks towards him.

“To bed with you, you are practically dead on your feet.” He demands, and Anders frowns, but obeys, disappearing behind the curtain that serves as a makeshift bedroom. He is face down on his cot and passed out in the short amount of time that it takes Fenris to follow him, shaking his head and removing the Mage’s boots, Anders curling his knees and feet up in an absurd curl for such a tall man.

Fenris takes a moment to step back out, locking the doors and snuffing out the candles that remain lit in the clinic, inspecting the shelves briefly before deciding firmly that Anders will be eating breakfast at the Hanged Man in the morning before he treats anybody at all. 

The nightmares are starting to come as Fenris returns, stripping his armour as fast as he can before sitting at the head of the cot, his back to the wall as he presses his hands into Anders hair, removing the tie and stroking the locks. The whimpers quieten, though not quite ceased, and Fenris strokes the frown out of Anders brow only to copy it when it returns. They are always worse when he goes too long without rest, falling faster into a deep sleep which brings them on. Fenris will not be getting much sleep this night, and he sighs, twining his fingers more into Anders hair as he takes his other hand in his own, a small smile breaking his frown as the long fingers curl around his own.

The mage is a fool, but that is alright.


	35. Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone thinks they hate each other but they have a very kind relationship

They don’t understand. Fenris says that they never will, because they do not want to. Most people will always paint others with the same easy brush. Good and Bad. Love and Hate. Black and White. They have no room for grey, and Fenris has no interest in changing their minds. Let them believe what they want to believe. Why should it matter to them?

It matters to Anders though, and he knows it shouldn’t, but it does. He couldn’t give a fig what strangers think, but he doesn’t like their friends thinking that they blindly hate each other, that that is where it begins and ends.

They don’t hear what he hears, see what he sees, feel what he feels. The way Fenris pulls him up during battle roughly, not out of frustration, but to get the mage back on his feet. Fenris is always looking for him, keeping an eye on him, making sure that he is still with them. 

He feels different to Anders, when he heals him, protects him. Not different like Merrill and Hawke, as fellow mages, but not different like Aveline, Carver, not different like Varric, with no connection to the Fade at all (and how strange that is) He knows it’s the lyrium, but he likes to think its something…else.

None of them see it, when he goes to the mansion, or Fenris comes to the clinic when the lamp is dimmed, which happens more than anyone would probably think. None of them see when Fenris takes him into his arms, holds him in front of the fire, running his hand through Ander’s loose hair whilst the mage traces the tattoos on his arms. None of them see when they make love ,and that is what it is. The gentle caresses, the soft kisses as Fenris presses him into the rich Tevinter silks that still remain on the bed, how he makes him feel totally and entirely loved when he takes him into his arms after. 

They don’t see how Fenris won’t sleep if the nightmares are bad, how he holds him through the night, wiping the tears and stroking his hair and doesn’t tell him it’s going to be okay because he knows it won’t be, this doesn’t end, the curse of the Warden, but he’s there, and that is what matters.

Anders hates that none of them can see this. Can’t see the intention behind the jibes, don’t pick up on how close they stick to each other in spite of harsh words. He hates that they’ve sequestered them into this box of Enemies, Hawke snapping at them to stop before they’ve barely begun to bicker, Varric teasing them not to kill each other as they leave at the end of the day, too busy laughing to acknowledge that they’re leaving in the same direction again.

It feels unfair.

Until one day, Hawke notices. 

It’s small. Fenris grabs his hand when he falls in battle, pulling him up and back into the fray, and he holds on a little too long, pulls him a little too close, green eyes scouring his face, making sure he’s okay. It’s seconds, but when the elf has turned back to the slavers that are attacking them, Anders readying a spell when he sees it, Hawkes eyes on him, intense, a frown on their face which he returns before turning with his spell, back into the battle, but it is not gone from his mind and suddenly, he doesn’t want them to know anymore. 

This is Theirs. Only he gets to see that side of Fenris, the soft parts, the gentle side that no-one else sees, that most of their group likely doesn’t believe exists. He thought he wanted everyone to see that, for everyone to see that there is more to Fenris to hate, and anger and revenge, more to them than their surface interactions.

He understands why Fenris doesn’t care now.

Hawke watches them the entire journey back, Anders can feel the eyes on his back, and he steps away from Fenris, trying to ignore the feeling of Fenris’ eyes sliding to the side to look at him, but he does nothing more, rolling his shoulders as he picks up his pace when Anders drops. 

Fenris understands. He always did, and now Anders is catching on.

They part at the Hanged Man, all of them agreeing to meet later for Wicked Grace, and as Anders steps away, Fenris’ speaks.

“Wonderful. Another evening of taking the Mage for money he doesn’t have whilst he prattles about the ‘plight of the mages.’” 

“I’m hoping repetition might work and I’ll have a success one day, like training a dog.” Anders retorts, turning away towards the path to Darktown.

“Ah, that would be the reason behind your repetitive losses then.” Fenris’ voice rings out behind him as he leaves, and he can hear Hawke snort even as the distance between them grows, and then conversation as Hawke and Varric enter the Hanged Man, the other Mages focus finally diverted from himself and Fenris.

Anders smiles as he departs, and as he heads for Hightown, Fenris does the same.


	36. Massage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders massaging the kinks and muscle aches from Fenris' shoulders and upper back.

He’d noticed it for a while now, but he had yet to dare say anything. He liked his heart where it was.

Fenris was in pain though, that much was obvious, and his silly little healers heart was bleeding in his chest all the same. He could tell every time they finished fighting, the way he bent back, rolling his shoulders back, the tiny clicking noises offering the barest relief before he sighed, putting the heavy sword back in place, which wasn’t helping in the slightest.

Anders brief forays into the mansion with Hawke also had him convinced the elf spent most nights propped up in the ridiculous armchair he often drank in, which, whilst comfortable for sitting, was not going to be doing his back any favours. It probably contributed to his foul demeanor.

Probably.

He kept his thoughts to himself though. He had no doubts that Fenris would not take any offer of assistance as the well-meaning gesture he meant it as, and though he ached to help, he held his distance and watched as Fenris hefted the sword on his back, grumbled and griped and stretched, and every time Anders would twitch a little more before turning away, and leaving him to it. 

Until the day Fenris decided to take his leave of his watch of Anders clinic when the last patient left/ (he claimed it was for Hawke, who would be upset were the mage to fall victim to Templars or the worst of Darktowns inhabitants, but he was fooling no-one. His watch was of Anders, whom he still did not trust after all this time) The elf immediately cried out, knees buckling and his hand shooting to his back. 

He’d straightened and quieted in an instant, but Anders had already seen, shaking his head and stepping over to take hold of Fenris’ arm, scowling and gripping harder when Fenris tried to pull away. 

“Let go of me, Mage.” He snapped, fist clenching, but Anders steeled his gaze, pulling the elf over to one of the empty cots. 

“I’ve watched you ache and twist and groan for too long, one day your backs going to do that mid-fight, and then where will we all be?” Anders retorted, pushing him in front of the cot “Now take off your shirt and lie down on your front, I am going to sort out your back.”

Fenris glared at him, and for a moment Anders feared for his life, realising what he had done. Fenris stood before him, and the Mage waited for the glowing that would signal the end of his life. He was going to miss the cats that came to the clinic for milk occasionally.

Then, Fenris unbuckled his armour, slipping out of his complicated armour with surprising ease, revealing a muscled body that Anders eyes widened at briefly, taking in the extent of the lyrium tattoos, before Fenris grunted, turning and lying down on the cot, head on his arms.

“Get on with it fast, Mage.” 

Anders stared for a moment before kneeling down, pressing his hands to Fenris’ shoulders, feeling the tension in the muscle. Not all of it was caused by exertion.

“This isn’t going to work if you don’t relax.” Anders chided.

Fenris huffed, but after a moment, exhaled heavily and his shoulders relaxed under Anders hands, allowing him to feel out the knots and tension formed from daily wear and poor posture.

Slowly, Anders worked the muscle, pressing in with his thumbs in ways he knew were going to hurt, and judging from the noises Fenris was making through gritted teeth, did, but it would be for the better in the long run, taking his time and getting through the painful parts until Fenris’ back was more pliant beneath him, yielding easier and the elf let his head rest against his arms as Anders worked quietly and quickly, skilled at this as he was at the rest of his craft.

Finally he was done, and he moved away, leaning back on his heels and about to tell Fenris he was free to go until he noticed the elf’s steady breathing, his cheek turned to rest full on his arm, having fallen asleep some time ago. 

Anders took in his pliant form, standing and placing one of the better blankets over the elf before dimming the lamps, sae one for his desk, settling down to write his manifesto, Fenris sleeping quietly a few feet away away as he worked through the night.


	37. Kiss Me

“Kiss me.”

Fenris stared at the Mage, his customary scowl replaced with a look of sheer disbelief. 

“Excuse me, Mage?”

Anders had come rushing round the corner, almost running headlong into the elf had his reflexes not been significantly sharper than the mages own, growling and slamming him into the wall for such a misdemeanour, when Anders had made his absurd request.

His eyes were darting to the corner frantically, trembling under Fenris grip with anxious anticipation. 

“I’m never going to get away now and in approximately 2 minutes a deluge of Templars will be patrolling the streets in a show of ‘strength and valour’ so push me against this wall and kiss me so they’ll ignore us and I get to remain free another day!” Anders hissed, frowning at the elf.

“I am not going to..mmpfh!” Fenris was cut off as the sound of metal clad feet broached the corner, and Anders pulled the elf to him, claiming his mouth and throwing his arms around the spiky armour the best he could.

Fenris’ first instinct was to pull away,quickly followed by a second instinct to light up his brands and remove all of Anders internal organs slowly and painfully. He twisted his fists into the Mages coat, shoving him back and making to wrench away when Anders mouth opened beneath his, a nimble tongue brushing his lips and Fenris shuddered, pressing the Mage closer to the wall as his tongue darted out, claiming the man’s mouth more thoroughly as they came closer together.

Anders tasted good. Very good. Incredibly good and Fenris could feel his arousal building already as the Mage whined under his mouth, arching into the firm grasp of the elf as he shoved him even more firmly against the wall, Templars marching past all but forgotten.

There was something undeniably satisfying about having a Mage beneath his grip, compliant and pleading. Especially this particular annoying, whiny, frustrating Mage and Fenris’ hand moved to slip behind Anders waist, pulling him in to arch against the elf, plundering his mouth as he gasped into the kiss.

Finally the Templar march had passed, and Fenris pulled away, Anders lips chasing his own slightly before he opened his eyes, cheeks flushed as he studied the elfs face.

“Um…” Anders said quietly, dazed “Thank you?” 

“I believe you owe me a debt now, Mage.” Fenris answered. He still had Anders pressed to the wall, and idly wondered what his mouth was doing. It certainly didn’t have his permission for any of this. 

Anders was back to himself almost immediately.

“A what?” He said indignantly, fighting against Fenris firm hold. Fenris simply pushed him back once more, staring at him

“I saved your life, Mage.” he said slowly “you owe me a debt, which you shall come to my home later and repay me. In full.”

“I shall do no such…oh. Oh I see.” Anders bit his lip as he caught on. “And what if I don’t come?” 

Fenris smirk was wicked, eyes dancing with mirth Anders had never seen in the elf before.

“You will come, Mage.” with that, Fenris pushed away from Anders and the wall, turning and leaving without so much as a backwards glance, leaving the Mage leaning against the wall, breathless and hopelessly aroused. 

“How do I get myself into these situations?” Anders muttered to himself, running his hand through his disheveled hair.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Justice asked himself the same question.


	38. Please, Don't Leave

“Please, don’t leave.”

Fenris barely heard the words at first, mumbled from the back of the small room they’d been shoved into in this series of cave whilst the leader of the bandits had a ‘talk with Hawke.

The elf was still examining the door. He had no intentions of being locked up again, but it was magically sealed, and the Mage had proved as useless as ever so he would have to sit it out and wait for Hawke. 

He sighed and turned to see what the Mage had been blathering about.

“Speak up, mage.” He groused “I can’t hear you with your face covered.”

Anders was sat at the back of the small dark room, knees drawn to his chest and face pressed into his arms. He’d retreated to this position after magic failed to work on the door and Fenris had almost had enough, the Mage giving up as soon as things got hard. He grew more angry the more he considered it, stepping towards the man on the floor. 

“Mage..” 

“Please.” Anders said again, lifting his face slightly, the slim line of light from the one small square in the door falling across his distraught face, the light catching on the tears on his face “don’t leave.”

Fenris came to an immediate halt, unsure what to do. He’d seen this before, on slaves punished with isolation, unable to cope when left alone, falling apart in small spaces like those they had been confined to.

But that was different. This was the Mage. He complained and moaned of the cruelty of the circles because he liked to whine. He had no true idea of what it was like to be hurt, the circles were there for the Mages’ own good. There could be no real basis to what he said.

The evidence to the contrary was now sat right in front of him, and Fenris felt very uncomfortable.

He drew closer slowly, crouching in front of Anders.

“I am not going anywhere, Mage.” He said slowly. It was tempting to point out he could not, trapped just as Anders was, but he knew logically that wasn’t going to help matters. 

Anders trembled, eyes still on Fenris as though he might vanish before him any moment.

“I don’t want to be alone again.” Anders voice was barely a whisper, hurt and lost, and Fenris didn’t know what to do, so he reached out lamely, taking the hand that he could see and holding it loosely, taking care not to catch then mages skin with his gauntlets

“You’re not alone. I am right here” Fenris replied. He wasn’t really sure what he was doing, but the touch seemed to ground Anders, the shaking beginning to subside, and so he reached out and touched his face, making sure the Mage kept looking at him. “You’re not alone, Anders. We are going to get out of here.”

There was a yell, and slam from outside, then the sound of footsteps running down the cave corridor.

“Anders?” Hawke yelled outside “Fenris?”

Fenris grinned at Anders,standing and pulling the Mage with him, who returned it with a watery smile. He did not let go of the man’s hand, pulling him over to the door.

“Hawke!” He called “We are here!”

More footsteps and then Avelines scowling face appeared in the gap in the door.

“Aveline!” Anders said, voice jovial, and apparently only Fenris could still hear the slight waver “I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight!”

Aveline rolled her eyes.

“Shut up, Anders, and stand back, both of you.”

They stood back, Fenris finally dropping Anders hand and a few moments later the door was hanging off its hinges, Aveline and Hawke looking at it with a smug satisfaction.

“Did you miss me?” Hawke said with a grin “Come on, your weapons are out here. The bastards getting away.” 

Hawke turned and fled, Aveline on his heel, and Fenris made to follow when Anders caught his arm. 

“Thank you, Fenris.” He said, voice low but sincere. 

Fenris nodded.

“You’re welcome, Anders.”

The Mage looked at him a moment before stepping outside to retrieve his staff, Fenris following behind quietly as he considered the Mage. 

He had a lot to think about


	39. Wait a minute. Are you jealous?

Anders wasn’t jealous. 

That would be absurd. Ridiculous. Preposterous. Fenris could talk to any pretty elf women he liked, and obviously, he was going to, actually smiling at her, and holding a conversation like Fenris talking to people and being polite and friendy was the most normal thing in the entire world. Not that it mattered to Anders, of course. It’s not like he and Anders were anything exclusive. Or even much of anything at all…

She touched Fenris’ arm, a simpering smile on her face and Anders fought down the rage that bubbled inside him, telling himself it wasn’t there, and when that didn’t work, that it was nothing to do with Fenris. It was simply because they saw Templars on their way to the Alienage, and that was all.

Fenris’ scowl deepened a little, his mouth a grim straight line as he stepped backwards and away from the elf womans touch, clearly uncomfortable. The womans face fell, and Anders could draw up no explanation (’excuse’ his traitorous mind hissed, and it was nothing to do with Justice at all) for the leap of happiness his heart did, a small smile gracing his lips.

“If you don’t blink, your eyeballs will dry up.” Isabela said, sidling up to him and making him jump. “I know he’s pretty, but honestly.”

“I’m not looking at Fenris.” Anders grumbled, straightening from leaning on his staff to loo around, and suddenly realising he had no idea where Hawke and Merrill had gone.

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” Isabela was leaning around him, trying to gauge his face, and Anders whipped away, cheeks flushing despite his desperately willing them not to.

“Don’t be stupid, Isabela.” He muttered.

“You are!” Isabela said gleefully, and to his horror, loudly “You’re jealous as a Barbary pigeon!” 

“Shut up.” Anders groused, for lack of anything better to do, eyes darting around to look anywhere that wasn’t the smug pirate at his side. 

And managing to fall right on Fenris, who was standing, rather alone having apparently rid himself of his admirer, and looking right at the Mage.

And smirking. 

“Oh, you bastard.” Anders swore under his breath as it clicked into place, because of course Fenris didn’t just talk to people, friendly and happy as you please. Not to the group, not in front of the group and especially not in front of Anders. 

Until now. 

Fenris was still smirking, like a cat that got the cream, and Anders could feel his fondness for the creatures diminishing as the seconds ticked past. (That was a lie, and Anders apologised to all the cats in the world in his head immediately as soon as the first thought finished)

The elf had done it entirely on purpose, and he’d fell for it, hook, line and sinker. 

“I’m going to find Hawke.” He said huffily to the pirate and the elf, leaving them behind with their twin smug grins and moving further into the alienage where he’d last saw the other Mage, and trying not to think about the deeper implications of being jealous over Fenris.

Which he most definitely was not. At all.


	40. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Question from tumblr: what do you think Fenris would do if Anders was caught and taken to the Circle like Bethany?

“We must get him out of there!” Fenris had stormed into Hawkes home the moment he’d heard of the Mages capture, seemingly intent on storming the Gallows by himself if he deemed it necessary and it had taken Hawke the best part of an hour to coax the angry elf into a chair.

Which he’d promptly left to pace the room less than five minutes later, but his sword still rested against the wall and there seemed to be less fear of him running off to wage a one-elf war against the Templars.

Hawke rubbed his temples in exasperation. He wanted Anders out as much as anybody, and as much as he liked Fenris, this behaviour was hardly in character and it was starting to grate.

“I know, Fenris!” He snapped “you think I’m happy about him being in there? I don’t like Bethany being in there and she doesn’t have an ounce of the track record he does, but we can’t go waging war against Meredith! There’s less than ten of us and she had an army of Templars at her disposal, all we’d do is get Anders made tranquil faster, or worse!”

“There is no ‘worse’ than tranquil.” Fenris replied, staring Hawke down, and he’d had enough.

“And what would you know?” Hawke yelled, slamming his hands on the table. Merrill flinched, and Aveline tensed, ready to stop a fight if necessary “you hate mages, you said yourself that Anders deserved to be tranquil! Why are you even here, Fenris? Surely you’re happy the abomination is locked away, just like my sister! Just as you would have had my father locked away! Why the sudden change of heart? Are you so eager to kill him yourself?”

Fenris was over the table before anyone knew what had happened, fists balled in Hawkes shirt and yanking him over the table, Fenris’ face in his own. Aveline leapt forward immediately, whilst Varric was on his feet levelling Bianca between the two, not aimed at either in particular, but everyone in the room knew where that bolt would head if it was fired.

“Take it back.” Fenris said, far too calm for the circumstances.

“Make me.” Hawke hissed, still angry. Avelines grip on his shoulder tightened.

“Boys” Varric said, voice low “we all need to calm down. None of this is helping Blondie.”

Fenris stared at Hawke a little longer before scoffing in disgust, and pushing Hawke away, stepping back. Aveline still eyed him warily.

“Broody, I suggest you step outside and calm down.” Varric continued, and Fenris scowled, but made for the door. 

“Leave that there.” Varric said warningly as Fenris reached for his sword. His fingers twitched, his scowl deepening, but he obeyed, stepping outside and leaning against the wall, taking a deep breath.

They were wasting too much time. Anders was suffering. He might even already be…

Fenris shook his head, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to think about the possibility at all.

The door opened next to him, and Hawke stepped out into the foyer, not really looking at him. 

“I’m sorry, Fenris” he said quietly “I lost my head. I am worried about Anders, and Bethany, but that’s no reason to take it out on you.”

This stupid, merciful, gracious man.

Fenris sighed.

“You are right. We cannot simply storm the Gallows.” He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry with nerves “The Mage and I…we have become…close.”

Hawke stared for a moment before realisation dawned on his face.

“oh.” The Warriors face fell into a dismayed frown as the implications fell into place “Why didn’t either of you say anything?” 

Fenris looked at him flatly.

“Point taken.” 

Hawke sighed, leaning against the wall next to Fenris. 

“We will get him out. He’s going to be okay.” He smiled weakly at Fenris, and the elf wasn’t stupid enough to think Hawke believed his words entirely. 

Still, he was trying, and Fenris appreciated that. These were his friends, Anders friends, and they had overcome worse than this. 

“Yes.” He said, pushing away from the wall to reenter the room to plan with renewed determination. “We will.”


	41. 'I thought you knew'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SuddenAnonPrompt! "I thought you knew." w/ Fenders

“I thought you knew.” Varric said casually, as though the secret he’d just spilled hadn’t turned Fenris’ world on its head. “I mean, it’s kind of obvious even without seeing.”

He was perfectly aware Fenris didn’t know, and that it wasn’t obvious, and he damn well knew it. Fenris’ fingers curled around the stem of his glass, brittle and delicate beneath his grip and he took a deep breath to save the item from meeting a swift end. 

“Why would he not say, if that were true?” Fenris said, voice low and quiet.

Surely were it true, Anders would use it to make it points. Rub in Fenris’ face.

“That’s Blondies business, not mine.” Varric said, a sad half-smile on his face.

Not his business. As though he hadn’t just casually spilled the Mages secrets over a friendly drink. 

Sometimes Varric didn’t even try and pretend he wasn’t a liar.

Fenris stood abruptly, moving to the door and collecting his sword, hastily muttering “I need to speak with the Mage” before vanishing out of the Hanged Man.

Varric chuckled, sipping from his tankard. 

“It’s about damn time.” He murmured to himself. 

This might yet go horribly wrong, but Varric was confident enough to think the odds were in his favour.

If not, well, Bianca was just as good as ‘talking’ as he was.

*****

Fenris had made it right to the door of the clinic, lamps out and firmly closed, before he stopped to think about whether this was a good idea. 

Then again, he never really had many good ideas.

He rapped at the door, gauntlets scraping the wood. 

“I know you are not asleep, Mage.” He growled out, internally berating himself for how irritated his voice sounded, even to himself.

He wasn’t built for compassion.

There was a long moment of silence, and Fenris began to wonder if the Mage was actually elsewhere, when there was a bang, the sound of someone tripping and then Anders was opening the door, hair loose and disheveled, only wearing his tunic and leggings. 

The ink smudges and paper clutched in the hand that held the door told Fenris the Mage had definitely been sleeping.

Anders sighed, leaning his head on the door. 

“If you have come to drunkenly berate me for my existence again, can I beg off for tonight?” He said, voice heavy with exhaustion “as much as I love our little ‘debates’ I am really not in the mood.” 

Fenris’ scowl deepened as he remembered that night. It had been sometime ago, when he was drinking significantly more. It was not something he was proud of, even as adamant as he had been in his opinion of the Mage.

“I am not here to argue, Ma…Anders.” He replied, and Anders frowned at him in confusion “May I come in? I wish to speak with you.”

Anders frown deepened. 

“It’s not really a good time right now, Fenris… ” Anders replied, glancing over his shoulder and pulling the door a little more closed.

“It is not often a good time for you these days.” Fenris placed a hand on the door, staring Anders down. “It will not take long.”

Anders seemed to weigh in his mind whether the ensuing argument with the elf would be worth it before sighing and turning, allowing the door to fall open to the clinic, and inadvertently answering one of Fenris’ harder questions as he did so. 

Scars, laced over the back of both of Anders arms, with no real pattern. The ones on his shoulders disappeared down under his tunic, where Fenris had no doubt they grew wider, and more frequent. Whipping scars. It was not usual for markings to be found on the arms of slaves where the whip landed on the backs of them along with their backs. 

Fenris remembered one boy who had turned at an inopportune time, and lost an eye. 

He stepped forward, ignoring the sheets of paper littering the floor on which he stood, pushing the door closed and taking hold of Anders waist, fingers hovering just above the skin on Anders arms.

Anders inhaled sharply, and stilled under his grip.

Fenris hesitated, then pressed his fingers to the marks, drawing back when Anders trembled at the feel of gauntlets on his skin. He pulled back, removing his gauntlet before touching the rough marks once more, tracing up to the back of tunic and pulling the fabric back ever so slightly to reveal the deepening marks.

“How could I not see?” He thought, still able to feel the Mage shivering slightly under his touch.

“Because I didn’t want you to.” Anders replied breathily, not turning to look at Fenris. He hadn’t realised he had spoke out loud.

“Why not speak of the injustices you have faced?” Fenris asked “your argument would hold so much more weight if people knew.”

“Or I would just be one bitter Mage with a grudge. Mages should have to be abused for people to see that locking us away is wrong.” Anders folded his arms, wrapping them around himself, and Fenris turned the Mage to face him, confusion evident on his face.

“You could have still told me. I..this. This is what I know, I can identify with this.” Fenris was struggling to reconcile it in his head, but he was trying dammit, and Anders could have made it so much faster. 

“Would you have believed me, even if I had? Who told you, by the way? I bet it was Varric.” Anders smiled sadly and shook his head “I’m going to kill him.” 

“Don’t blame the dwarf. He wanted to help.” Fenris replied. He looked at Anders. Really looked at him.

He looked so tired.

“If I hadn’t believed you, and I admit, I probably would not have, you could have shown me.”

“Why do you avoid speaking of Danarius?” Anders asked suddenly, and Fenris found his ire growing at the avoidance tactic, about to voice it when he stopped, thinking on it.

“Because it is easier not to.” He said slowly. “It’s better not to remember.”

Anders said nothing when Fenris stopped speaking. He didn’t need to, and idly the elf thought when he’d first met the Mage he’d have had some stupid comment to make, a jovial comeback to lighten the mood and anger Fenris in the process.

When had his light-hearted personality become so dim? How had they all failed to notice. 

He thought of Varric back at the tavern. Perhaps not all of them.

“You should rest, Mage.” He said finally, stepping back from Anders, and the man’s relief was palpable. Had he always been so tense when others drew near? Fenris’ mind was reeling with questions, thinking back on the years of knowing the Mage.

“I should.” Anders replied, walking Fenris to the door. They both knew he would not. 

Fenris turned to him.

“I will be back tomorrow, Mage. I need herbs from the Coast and I do not know what I am looking for. You are coming with me.” Fenris started at Anders, daring him to refuse. 

He was determined to get him out of this clinic, even for just a few hours. 

Anders smiled, picking up a sheet that had slipped behind the door.

“Then I guess I will see you tomorrow.”

“You will.” Fenris said “Goodnight…Anders.”

“Goodnight, Fenris.” Anders replied, an amused smile on his tired face before he closed the door, and Fenris frowned deeply before shaking his head and beginning the long walk back to High town


End file.
